


Didn't know I was lonely till I saw your face

by gunboots



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Angst, F/M, James isn't actually sure he is that friend, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Steve Rogers just wants his friend back, attempts at fix-it fic, disjointed pov, mentions of internal homophobia, mentions of period appropriate homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:56:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1602683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunboots/pseuds/gunboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are words on paper, actors in movies, and a grand story that fills a whole corner of a museum defined by history. There are words, there are pictures, there are movies, but they're limited, fragmented. They can't do justice to the sniper that Captain America trusted, the man that grew into a boy in the streets of Brooklyn with his best friend at his side. The man that could be James Buchanan Barnes leaves a legacy that is barely defined. </p><p>The man that Steve Rogers says he is.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>CA:TWS Spoilers.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Didn't know I was lonely till I saw your face

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I'd like to say that I actually did not intend to write this fic at all, or rather I did, but it went a completely different way and had a lot happier of an ending than I expected it would. This is kind of speculation/desperate need for some kind of resolution whoops. This is unbeta'd/my mind is kind of rotting from grad school, there are probably errors a plenty, just fyi. 
> 
> I went with 'Yasha/Yakov' out of all the fandom names circulating around for Bucky since it made the most sense to me, aside from the little Russian I can recall from undergrad and the use of 'Джеймс'.

There are words on paper, actors in movies, and a grand story that fills a whole corner of a museum defined by history. There are words, there are pictures, there are movies, but they're limited, fragmented. They can't do justice to the sniper that Captain America trusted, the man that grew into a boy in the streets of Brooklyn with his best friend at his side. The man that could be James Buchanan Barnes leaves a legacy that is barely defined. 

The man that Steve Rogers says he is.

\---

After three months, as Hydra collapsed around everyone (cut off one head and two more will grow in its place--but it will take time, enough time for someone to burn the rest, salt the earth and scatter the ashes) and the Black Widow that he could have known in another life lets her threads scatter in the wind, someone that was once _Yasha_ , that could have been _James_ , is spotted sitting in a cafe in Brooklyn. 

The cafe is bigger than it used to be, filled with business thanks to Captain America, returning hero and _did you know he and Bucky used to drink coffee in that table, sir?_ That they used to scrape the bare dimes they could and drink it like it was fine wine. Rationing was in effect, coffee was expensive and they wanted the best. 

The man doesn't reply to the waitress, he sits at the same table whenever possible, and drinks cup after cup of their coffee (black, some sugar, some cream). He is there for a week (he shows up in the afternoon, stays till closing) before someone with a baseball cap and hoodie, who looks so much like Steve Rogers and yet does not, takes a seat across from him.

" _Bucky._ " There's feeling, so much feeling and Yasha-maybe-James chafes at it instinctively. Steve Rogers looks at him with intensity, with the same emotion as he did towards a dead man in the movie reels, in the scant projections on the walls of the Smithsonian. It's painful in proximity.

James has already done a perimeter check, and he doesn't bother to hide it when he does it again. Captain America (his mission, his target) was foolish enough to come here alone. Maybe he knows, sees how Yasha is falling apart at the seams, how his arm aches, his mind blanks out, how his body literally feels like it's giving up on him.

This could be revenge.

Yasha, empty Yasha, who was sometimes called _the American_ , who was called _the Winter Solider_ by Department X and by Alexander Pierce, drinks this final cup of coffee.

He has nowhere else to go, and his body aches and for all this numbness there is also frustration, there's anger. It never bothered before that his life was the mission, that his purpose was the target. 

There's a man on a bridge.

There's a man in the street looking at him.

There's a man who's in his grip. The feel of warm flesh under his metal fingers and he just needs to squeeze but then there's words, a curse, a spell, something and he's falling, they're both falling down, down, down.

"Bucky." 

There's a man in front of _Yakov_ , sometimes Yasha, and he's the first echo in the solitary silence of his mind. 

\---

James.

That is the name that he will use. James, though it could be Yakov, though it is sometimes Yasha. But it is definitely the Winter Solider.

 _James_ , is what he insists, through broken lips and a voice hoarse from disuse (what good is his voice besides to give and obey commands). Steve Rogers doesn't hide the hurt in his eyes, and the Winter Solider has killed so many assassins, so many spies, has worn deception like a familiar face but in the presence of such brutal honesty he is lost.

"James, then." Captain America (his target, his mission, his failure) repeats, hesitant, "James, it is." 

James nods his acquiesce. They sit in someone else's living room, he keeps waiting for the men in their stained lab coats to take him, to walk through the front door, but they have been here for what feels like days (hours) and the captain tries to talk to him, tries to get him to talk.

He's trying to raise the dead locked inside and James can't oblige him, not when he's not even living in the first place.

"we'll fix this, ok? We'll get help." James, who is tired, who hasn't eaten anything besides the bare minimum, who isn't a man, not really, maybe a ghost after all just looks ahead at the wall in front of him.

"If you want." He isn't obligated to kindness, but he is in debt. 

"It's not about what _I_ want." Captain America ('call me Steve, please') insists, "It's about what _you_ want." 

What does the Winter Solider want?

What does Yakov want?

What does James want? 

He doesn't respond at first, just looks back at Captain America, Steve Rogers, Steve, and finally he says, gives him a truth for a truth, "I don't know."

\---

Steve Rogers ('Just Steve') treats him gently, delicate, like at any given moment, James will break. James is used to being a weapon, to being the gun, the brake-cutter, the bullet. He's never been anything else.

Not a memory, not a friend, not a treasure. He was a weapon, and now he is a man.

A broken man with an even more broken body and splintered soul, but he is still a man.

This is the most painful part.

\---

A doctor visits Sam Wilson's home (their home for as long as Sam, the falcon, Icarus who James had ripped the wings off of and still soared, allows) and tends to James' wounds while Steve watches from the doorway, concern radiating off of him. 

His silhouette over them is what first triggers it.

A sharp, alarming jolt that makes him double over with the clarity, like a fresh stab in an old wound and he lets out a yowl because there is a sudden burn in his mind. The doctor immediately backs away, and maybe he is saying a warning ('Steve I told you this is why you need to get a REAL doctor--the other guy's--'), maybe he is saying nothing at all, but there in his mind is the first memory.

\---

There are two boys, barely men, and one of them is going to die if they can't find a doctor. 

There are two men, maybe boys and one is borrowing money, any money please Steve is sick and his mother's passed, and--

There is one doctor, looking over a small, skinny frail boy (he looks so weak, tired, and constantly coughing and there was blood on his mouth) while a man looks on. He's running on little sleep from the past three days, two extra shifts at the factory but he did it. Steve's alive for this much longer.

\---

James wakes up on the couch hours later. The dust motes dance in front of his eyes and the sun setting around him. The doctor, Steve, and Sam are all discussing something in the kitchen; he can hear their voices rise and fall. The minute James opens his mouth to speak however, they’re already rushing over. 

"Christmas." The words spill from his mouth like he's possessed, forming on the tip of his tongue and he needs them to be released, "you were sick and you lied, you were sick and you lied but you needed a doctor--" It's like a weight has been pressed, forced down on his shoulders, onto his spine, and he can't breathe, "and I found one."

Steve Rogers is frozen, he looks pale, and for a brief second, James can see a smaller, shorter, thinner boy, so sickly but so alive and so--

"Yes," Steve agrees after a moment, and he sounds just as breathless, but his eyes are clear and his sigh has pain and sheer relief in equal measure, "Yes, you did. You always took care of me, Buck."

Steve moves slowly, doesn't touch him, though James knows...somehow he wants to.

"We always took care of each other; it's always just been you and me."

\---

The second memory is less painful, but still alarming and shocks him down to his core at how quickly it fills his mind, cracks at the smooth surface of it.

He spends all night throwing up, can feel Steve, (not Captain America, not Steve Rogers, or Captain Steven G. Rogers) just Steve nearby, and he can feel the phantom touch of someone's hand on his back.

\---

There are two boys.

One is tiny, so delicate his bones might be made of glass, and he's clutching a bloody nose. The other is reaching for a handkerchief. It's his mother's and it's one of her treasures, soft as silk and covered in painstakingly embroidered flowers. He leans down to wipe away the damage knowing full well that it will never be the same.

"You didn't...you didn't have to." He says, and it echoes in James' mind like a melody on a broken phonograph, "I would have been fine."

The smaller boy frowns, lets the other dab his nose, "But I wanted to, they were bullies and they were picking on you." 

"Steve--"

"—S’lright, Buck." And the boy smiles, and he's got blood all over his face, but he's smiling and his teeth are just as crooked as his but his smile is so dazzling, "You're my best friend, you'd do the same for me."

There are two boys in a small schoolyard in Brooklyn and they're unstoppable. 

\---

"He could be faking all of this, you were his target."

"Not possible, _no one_ knows about how Dennis McCrery broke my nose in the 3rd grade or how Bucky worked--"

"--Not hard to _bullshit_ it either Rogers, you were a scrawny kid that liked to get into fights and looking at pictures of you and Barnes pre-serum it's pretty obvious who the breadwinner was--"

"--we both worked Tony, Bucky just worked on the docks and in the factories because they'd let him, I was too much of a liability for most places."

"Believe me, I want to be wrong about this too. Especially considering how a shadowy organization fucking with someone’s body against their will is a little too close to home for me, but just..."

" _I know_ , Tony. I know."

James can hear Steve arguing with someone, completely unaware that he's awake in the guest room.

James can see the logic better than Steve can. He's not even sure if these memories are real...or a fail-safe designed to bring out another persona, one that can get close to Capta--Steve and kill him.

The thought burns something at the back of his throat and he feels like his mouth is filled with ash.

He almost misses the silence of his mind.

\---

Memories three and four go hand-in-hand with each other, they both take their toll on his body, and he is bedridden with fever as someone wipes away the sweat from his brow. He talks about the memories as the fever burns across his skin and his left shoulder flares up as though his metal arm is on fire (it's missing, it's gone, Steve's friend has it but it still feels like it's there).

He says his memories to the ether, to the white of Sam’s ceiling, and only later as the hand holding his tenses does he realize who it is that's with him.

His first kiss had been with Steve Rogers, at age 9, but he'd been so scared at the time that he'd lied and convinced Steve to lie too. They heard the stories, knew of what happened to boys that even joked about kissing other boys.

He'd regretted it. 

Years later, he'd see the women flocking to Captain America in bars all along Europe and he'd think, he'd think about hushed voices under a worn duvet on thin mattress. About soft, chapped lips and the way Steve had hiccuped and how he'd held on so desperately.

He'd think, and he'd _ache_.

\---

When James finally recovers, he feels the beginning of someone else pouring into his mind.

The fact that he can't make eye contact with Steve just makes things more complicated.

\---

Weeks later, a man who introduces himself as Dr. Charles Xavier sits across from him at the living room table.

 _They need to find a way to stabilize his mind. Letting the conditioning wear off naturally is causing more harm than good. This is the last resort. No one wanted it to come to this. No one knows the extent of the damage._ The explanations fall neatly into place and James feels weary, instinctively he wants to run, wants to leave, and wants them to leave his mind alone. 

Haven't they done enough? 

This new found humanity is far more painful than the blank slate of being a machine. He's full to the brim and yet so empty. They at least ask his permission first, even if the alternative (letting his mind continue on in these aborted starts and stops and praying it doesn't break him apart) is assured destruction, they ask.

It's going to be painful, probably just as painful as the first time. It's going to last for hours. Maybe days. But is the only way the damage can be undone, can be limited, that the real him, whoever that is, can finally make it through ice of his mind.

There is a fear that James has, that this is all conditioning, that these memories were taken from another man and implanted in his mind. That he is not James Buchanan Barnes, not even Bucky Barnes, or Buck. That he is nothing, just a clever trick to play on Captain America. That the real Bucky Barnes fell to his death and his body was taken and soul harvested, placed in an empty shell. And that fear, that is what makes him pause. 

It's the same fear that makes him answer.

He feels the 'yes' hissed between his teeth, and Dr. Charles Xavier, Professor X, Charles in another life, holds up his hands.

"Let us begin."

\---

The damage is more than anyone could have predicted. They sit for hours, and hours before it all becomes too much and Yasha once, James now, blacks out.

\---

He has a name.

" _Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th._ " He has a name, he has a rank, and he has a mission. He has a best friend who means the world to him. A best friend that never did have the body to fit his big heart and bigger sense of justice who can't, just _can't_ , go onto war even as he tries to enlist time and time again. It's not fair that brave Steve Rogers can't go fight the good fight with him, but then again, Bucky is selfish and thinks maybe it's the _kindest_ blessing anyone's given him.

Every time Steve comes back from another rejection, Bucky all but fights to keep the relief off his face. 

The war would kill Steve, just like anything these days can. Or worse, war would take him and spit him back out. Return him hollow and broken, full and empty, weighted down by all that he'd seen. 

He wonders if Steve will ever realize that he'd been drafted, that he'd wanted to stay, wanted to do something else to help serve in the war. Anything else to do his part that wouldn't have separated him from the one person he's got left. The one person he needs to stay behind with to make sure he doesn't get killed trying to be a hero in another street fight, or get killed coughing his lungs out because they just don't have the money for a doctor, or even killed because the winter's always harsh on Steve and, and--

\--Bucky _needs_ Steve.

He always has.

\---

After an eternity, after what feels like centuries encased in ice, after a lifetime, several lifetimes as a ghost, a machine, a weapon--

Bucky opens his eyes.

\---

It's not perfect.

There are bad days, bad nights, and sometimes bad weeks. But this is his life now. _His._

James Buchanan Barnes.

\---

They sit across from each other at a table, order coffee (one black, but with plenty of cream and sugar, another adds sugar and milk), and watch the people arrive and leave in waves. It's a little cafe in Brooklyn and once Captain America and Bucky Barnes were poor kids who would save and scrape money just to have a cup of coffee. 

Steve has their fingers laced together and he blushes, happy and eager and just in love--because he's Steve. Bucky gives him a smile back, it's worn from disuse but it's there. It’s frayed but it's actually there and not just in Steve’s memory. Bucky keeps expecting some kind of fallout, knows the world shouldn't let him just have--because he's Bucky. But because there is Steve and because there is Bucky, Bucky doesn't say any of that out loud. 

Sam texts Steve he's on the way, and Bucky thinks, maybe he should invest in a cellphone, one day eventually. He doesn't plan on leaving Steve's side for a long time though, so he'll let Steve take care of it. Take care of him.

\---

There are words on paper, actors in movies, and a grand story that fills a whole corner of a museum defined by history. There are words, there are pictures, there are movies, but they're limited, fragmented. They can't do justice to the sniper that Captain America trusted, the man that grew into a boy in the streets of Brooklyn with his best friend at his side. The man that could be James Buchanan Barnes leaves a legacy that is barely defined. 

The man that Bucky Barnes knows he is.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted fic to celebrate fandom explosion/all the Bucky love. Title is from the Bleachers' "I Wanna Get Better". Wow it has been a while, I have so many WIPs and then this happens.


End file.
